


Smoke-Lined Dreams

by tensthusiast



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23156158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tensthusiast/pseuds/tensthusiast
Summary: It’s hard to imagine a child without safety, without care. It’s hard to see a little boy lose everything he loves in the span of an hour. What’s most difficult to conjure is the pain filling his chest as smoke engulfs him, running as fast as he can, wailing and screaming and trying to breathe
Relationships: Liu Yang Yang & Zhong Chen Le, Liu Yang Yang/Zhong Chenle
Kudos: 16





	Smoke-Lined Dreams

It’s hard to imagine a child without safety, without care. It’s hard to see a little boy lose everything he loves in the span of an hour. What’s most difficult to conjure is the pain filling his chest as smoke engulfs him, running as fast as he can, wailing and screaming and trying to breathe.

He’s ten-or-so— the boy. He’s young and he’s scared because he knows his mom didn’t make it out and all he wants right now is her comfort. He’s been brought to his grandfather’s home. He’s wrapped in a fireman’s blanket and shaking, with tears never ceasing their currents across his cheeks. He hasn’t said a word. He doesn’t know what to say.

Eventually, the tearing, pulling, ripping pain in his chest relaxes, or at least fades. It’s long enough to let his eyes close and his brain shut off for the rest of the night— or morning, considering the digital clock in the corner blinking a steady “1:27 AM.”

He wakes up in a bed. It’s his bed, but this is not the home he wants to see. He expects tears, but they never come. He sits up and swallows, feeling a burn down his throat. He can do nothing but stare at the wall.

“Chenle!” He snaps out of it, taking a hard look at the white wooden door on his right, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“Grandpa?” He’s not loud enough to pierce the walls, but it’s plenty to remind himself he still has a voice. He starts to think it might have been a dream.

“Come down for breakfast!” Chenle carefully leads himself out of bed, feet pressing into the dark wooden floors. It’s cold. He feels sore and terribly rested. He reaches out and the feeling of his hand on the doorknob is enough to ground him.

“Coming!” The shout is more of a croak, rattling his head and making him feel unstable. It takes him a second before the white fades from his vision. 

As he regains his thoughts, he opens the door. There’s no creaking of the wood. The house is quiet. Nothing feels right.

The carpeted stairs are nostalgic as he runs down them, shag threading against his feet. He nearly smiles as he rounds the corner into the warm, brick-lined kitchen.

“Chenle, get up.”

“What?”

“Wake up.”

And so he does. The whiteness and dizziness return and he opens his eyes.

It just doesn’t make sense to him. He was awake. He’d just woken up. But he hadn’t.

“I thought you’d died.”

That was the dream. Yang was kneeling beside him. He was dreaming. He felt the tear again, the pull, the rip. The burn came back to his throat. He wanted the tears to come but they wouldn’t. They still never came. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t know what to say.

“Chenle?”

“No.”

“Chen—”

“No!”

“Lele, are you okay?”

He stared at the wall and thought. No. He wasn’t okay right now. He was scared and he wanted his mom. He wanted his grandpa. He missed his grandpa. Then the tears began. 

It was the most sudden he’d ever cried, tears welling up and spilling out of him in seconds. His arms shook and he tried to catch his breath, Yang now holding him and trying his best to calm him down. 

“It’s just a dream.”

“I saw my mom.”

“It’s just a dream.”

“But my grandpa—”

“Shh..”

And he tried to be quiet but the words kept slipping past him. Grandpa— smoke— dream— mom— home— bed— fire. He couldn’t process, he couldn’t think.

“Chenle, please!”

And he stopped. He sniffled and breathed. There were no more words. His mind went blank. The tears stopped falling.

“I’m sorry.”

Yang shook his head, pulling Chenle closer and counting, silently, to ten. 

“It’s just a dream.”

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my docs for over a year as the tiniest little drabble. fat thanks to my girlfriend for reminding me to post it


End file.
